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This time, too, the gentleman in the proscenium box gave the signal for the applause, but no one appeared to notice it. Ticellini hurried to La Luciola's dressing-room. The diva was already dressed for her part, and looked so transcendently beautiful that the maestro held his breath. "Well, maestro," said the diva, laughing, "do I please you, and do you think the opera will be a success?"
Our readers have already guessed that the marquis was playing the part of a Brutus, and La Luciola, who loved him dearly, supported him in his plans. The two fiery natures had become acquainted at Naples. Luciola's friend, the gentle Milla, had written the mysterious libretto and Aslitta had sent it to Ticellini.
When the Major von Kirchstein and his comrades, attracted by the noise, rushed out into the street, they saw La Luciola's carriage covered with flags bearing the national colors; the diva and her friend were seated therein, and La Luciola enthusiastically cried: "Oh, Milla, Milla, this is great and sublime!" "Comrades!" shouted the major in a rage, "follow me.
"Why, yes, it is he," replied her aunt. "He is a friend of our curé's, and was once his pupil. He is the Prince Giovanni Della Robbia, a very noble, good young man." "I am not sure he is so very good," retorted Nathalie, pleased to know something which her aunt perhaps did not know, about a person of importance. Luciola's tiny body quivered with indignation. "Not good!
As for herself, she had no fear, and though she could not understand Aslitta's absence, she was far from imagining the truth. Suddenly San Pietro's repulsive features appeared at the carriage window, and Luciola's heart ceased beating. Had he betrayed Aslitta? The count had arranged things well.
When the smoke cleared away, Monte-Cristo still stood there; at the same time the crowd separated in the centre, and two harnessed horses were shoved in front of Luciola's carriage. How it happened no one knew in an instant the traces were fastened to the shafts, the negro who sat on the box whipped up the horses, and in a second the carriage rolled away.
We will capture La Luciola, and bring her to the citadel!" Loud applause greeted the major's words, but before he had reached the coach a hand grasped him by the throat, and a hoarse voice cried in his ear: "If you touch a hair of La Luciola's head, you are a dead man." It was Aslitta.
When the hated Austrian uniforms appeared in the brilliantly lighted streets, a threatening noise was uttered by the mob, and the students who surrounded Luciola's carriage threw themselves upon the officers. It was a foolish beginning, for they had no weapons they only possessed burning patriotism, and their hatred of the foreign oppressor.
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